Her Last


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The last thing she drew was a butterfly.

It has luminescent wings, vivid coloring misting their tips, and decorative floral patterns layering the surface. And they are beautiful.

The frail, spindly body is a pitch black, seemingly the color of no color at all, only one which mirrors the depths of the shadows. So capturing to the eye, yet so fragile nonetheless, just as a piece of thin glass.

Incredibly soft, smooth like velvet, caution taken in its presence. No option is touch, for it would surely alter the delicacy beyond repair.

Minuscule are the eyes, though still bulging with hint of a sparkle at their edge. Dull color can be seen through them, and at what appeared to be a calm world surrounding it.

In its day of creation, it was suddenly enveloped in a breeze like no other, a breeze which changed merely with the intensifying weather. 

Continuous, everlasting, unfading it remained throughout the commotion.

The fragile creature attempted to gently flutter in that breeze, no desire of stopping unless a far more brutal storm came forth. Even then it would fight for its soul. The opportunity, the gift to live isn't one to simply throw away when abruptly faced with a seemingly impossible challenge.

That's the way her butterfly is meant to think. In her mind, that is. Overcome difficulties and win the right to live. It was her eternal belief, and she'd intended to do nothing but stand behind it.

Yet one day it was all stolen from her. But not from her butterfly, her fragile creature to carry that element of confidence and endurance onwards. It became a piece to symbolize the memory of her, the one who never imagined her fate could lead her to where she disappeared. Forever. 

The winged creature never dies. It remains within those who've been exposed to its meaningful features. The words scrawled alongside the image assist its message.

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The sentence reads:

Long live the shimmer of hope amidst the chaotic sea of darkness.

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